


(it's not my fault) i don't like girls

by steve_the_hair_harrington (peter_parkerson)



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Apologies, Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Friendship, Gay Will Byers, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Making Up, Mental Health Issues, Missing Scene, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Will Byers/Mike Wheeler, Sad Will Byers, Season/Series 03, Trauma, Will Byers Has PTSD, Will Byers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 10:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19850977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peter_parkerson/pseuds/steve_the_hair_harrington
Summary: He watches Mike turn to smile at El as Lucas digs Skittles and Kit Kats out of the vending machine, and he wants to bang his head against a wall. Dramatic, maybe, but he thinks he’s earned the right to be just a little dramatic. If nothing else, it would get Mike’s attention.Will closes his eyes, free hand running through his hair. When he opens them again, Mike is standing in the middle of the room with his arms full of candy, looking nervously between Will and El, who’s moved to sit three seats down with her nose in a magazine.He’s going to go to El. He’s going to go sit with her and try to patch things up because their relationship is...on the rocks or whatever and El is the only thing he cares about anyway, so -“Hey,” Mike says.Will blinks up at him, grip on the armrest automatically loosening (but only just). Mike gives him this timid sort of half-smile that Will doesn’t return. “Hi.”Stranger Things 3 missing scene fic in which Mike actually apologizes for his and Will's fight in episode 3.





	(it's not my fault) i don't like girls

**Author's Note:**

> there was no resolution for the 'it's not my fault you don't like girls' fight in st3 so i fixed it lol

Mike keeps glancing at him from across the waiting room, where he and Lucas are trying to get a candy bar out of the vending machine. It’s quiet, except for the drone of the receptionist’s voice on the phone, and Will’s ears have been ringing ever since he walked into the hospital, the same way they used to when the Mind Flayer had control.

He hates hospitals. Really, truly hates hospitals.

He’s trying not to think about it. About the hospital, about Billy, about the Mind Flayer, about the fact that his brother and Nancy are both _with_ one of the Flayed, about -

“Shut up,” he mutters to himself, curling his fingers around the armrest of his chair. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Max shoot him a confused look and gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

The problem - well, one of the _many_ problems he has at the moment - is that every time he tries to stop thinking about the Mind Flayer, he ends up thinking about Mike.

Which wouldn’t be an issue if not for the fact that it _is._

_It’s not my fault you don’t like girls._

Will’s hand tightens around the armrest so hard the edges bite into his palms. Three days later and he still can’t stop hearing it. Can’t stop replaying the moment Mike said the words he’d hoped he’d never have to hear. Can’t stop feeling remnants of the _fear_ he’d felt when the reality of what his so-called best friend had said hit him like a slap in the face.

He’s scared. 

He’s so incredibly scared, but more than that, he’s _angry._

No. _Angry_ doesn’t even cover it. _Angry_ was when Mike invited him over just for him and Lucas to ditch him to talk, _incessantly,_ about the girls they took for granted anyway. _Angry_ was when he got back from the Upside Down just to start coughing up slugs and end up possessed by an all-powerful shadow creature. _Angry_ was when Jonathan finally cracked and told him that Lonnie visited after he disappeared just to try to make money off his ‘death’.

Will has never been the angry type, never really knew _how_ to be, but with everything that’s going on, Will is so far past angry.

He hates being angry too, maybe even more than he hates hospitals. It reminds him too much of the way the Mind Flayer made him feel. Makes his chest feel tight and his head feel floaty.

He’s _seething_ , but he’s also just...miserable. He feels shaky and scratchy and strangely...staticy, like there’s electricity popping under his skin, sparking through his veins. And the thing is, it’s all blurring together so badly that he can’t tell how much of it’s because of the Mind Flayer and how much is because of the way his friends have been treating him. Because of the way _Mike_ has been treating him.

_It’s not my fault you don’t like girls._

Because of the _thing_ he’s been avoiding thinking about ever since he realized there was something to avoid thinking about.

_You don’t like girls._

There’s a dull _bang_ that makes Will jump, and then all the candy falls out of the vending machine. 

He watches Mike turn to smile at El as Lucas digs Skittles and Kit Kats out of the vending machine, and he wants to bang his head against a wall. Dramatic, maybe, but he thinks he’s earned the right to be just a little dramatic. If nothing else, it would get Mike’s attention. 

Will closes his eyes, free hand running through his hair. When he opens them again, Mike is standing in the middle of the room with his arms full of candy, looking nervously between Will and El, who’s moved to sit three seats down with her nose in a magazine.

He’s going to go to El. He’s going to go sit with her and try to patch things up because their relationship is...on the rocks or whatever and El is the only thing he cares about anyway, so -

“Hey,” Mike says.

Will blinks up at him, grip on the armrest automatically loosening (but only just). Mike gives him this timid sort of half-smile that Will doesn’t return. “Hi.”

“Can I, uh...sit?”

Is he allowed to say no? It doesn’t feel like he’s allowed to say no.

It’s easier not to say anything at all, so he doesn’t. Just shrugs. 

Mike takes that as a yes. Moves to sit in the chair on Will’s right, crossing one leg over the other so that he’s tilted toward him. Will picks a spot on the wall in front of him and fixes on it. Sees El glance at them before getting right back up and heading over to Max again.

For a long moment, Mike’s quiet. His foot taps against the floor in a dull, offbeat rhythm, but otherwise he’s quiet.

Then, too loudly, he asks, “Do you want some M&Ms?”

Will looks at him. Then down at the bag of M&Ms he’s holding out. Then back up at him.

Mike pulls his hand back. 

“Look, Will, I -“ He uncrosses his feet but stays angled toward Will, legs kicking in front of him so that his shoes just barely scuff against the floor like a child. “I just...wanted to say I’m sorry. About the other day, I mean.”

_It’s not my fault you don’t like girls._

“Okay,” Will says, because honestly? It’s all he has in him. 

Mike shifts uncomfortably. His voice is tight when he says, “But it doesn’t feel okay, Will.”

That’s because it’s _not._ Nothing about this, not one single thing, is okay. There’s so much that’s wrong here, so many different variations of _not okay_ that Will doesn’t even know what to do with it. Doesn’t even know where to start.

One thread will unravel it all, he knows. One tug, one wrong word, just one little misstep, and everything will fall apart. 

He’s not in the right state of mind to handle that right now. He doesn’t think there _is_ a right state of mind to handle that. Not when the way Mike’s looking at him is making his stomach do flips.

(That happens a lot when Mike looks at him, but it’s different this time.)

Will pulls his feet up onto his chair, wraps his arms loosely around his ankles, rests his chin on his knees. All of a sudden, the outrage drains out of him - the anger is still there, still burning low in the pit of his stomach, but the urge to either punch something or scream fades to make way for _exhaustion._ Which, he finds, isn’t much better than anger.

“I don’t really care right now, Mike,” he says quietly, tiredly. His ears are still ringing. It’s driving him crazy. 

Mike makes a weird noise in the back of his throat, bumps Will’s shoulder with his own, lightly. “Come on, Will, I’m trying to apologize here. I ignored you and I was an asshole when you were just trying to have fun and I really am sorry.”

He leaves it at that, and Will’s stomach twists.

_It’s not my fault you don’t like girls._

Will cocks his head to look at him, his cheek pressing into his knees. Mike’s eyes dart around for a moment before settling on Will’s right ear. “Is that it?”

He wants Mike to go away. He’s not exactly sure what good can come out of having this conversation right now. 

He wants Mike to either go away or just get everything out already (because there’s more. There’s so much more, but Will won’t be the one to say it. He _won’t._ )

Mike is talking, but Will isn’t really processing.

It’s not that he doesn’t think Mike is sincere. It’s not that he _wants_ to be mad at him. It’s just that he’s so unused to being this angry that he doesn’t know how to stop.

Besides, if he directs all his anger at Mike, it leaves less room in his head to think about the hospital. And Billy. And the Mind Flayer. And the fact that -

_Stop it, stop it, stop it -_

“Stop _what_ , Will?” 

He flinches, Mike’s voice all too loud and Will’s brain all too jumbled for him to handle. There’s so much, _too much,_ going on for him to process - it feels like his brain is running at half-speed and all he wants is for everything to slow down to match.

A hand wraps around his wrist, Mike’s fingertips pressing into his pulse point. “Hey, are you okay?”

“No,” Will murmurs.

It’s all he means to say at first. It _is_ , but then he glances around and all he can see is the too white tiles of the hospital walls. All he can smell is the burning scent of disinfectant. All he can feel is the thrum of anxiety in his veins, the echo of a memories he’s tried so hard to forget.

And all at once, the anger swells up again, rising through his chest and up into his throat. 

Once it’s there, it’s got nowhere to go but up.

He yanks his arm out of Mike’s grip. Sits up straight in his chair, feet falling to the floor. Snaps, “ _No_ , Mike, I’m not okay.”

“I’m sitting in _yet_ _another_ damn hospital -” His voice cracks on _hospital_ \- “because the thing that completely ruined my life is back and trying to kill me, my friends, and everyone in this god-forsaken town. I feel like I haven’t been able to _breathe_ since the first time I felt him in the movie theater, because no matter where I go, no matter what I do, I can still _feel him._ ”

He’s being too loud. He _knows_ he’s being too loud and he _knows_ that the others are looking at them and he _knows_ that he should quiet down, but at this point, frankly, he doesn’t care who hears him. 

“I _know_ we’re not kids anymore and I _know_ I’m hanging on to something that doesn’t even exist anymore, but I feel less scared when I’m in your basement and we’re playing games like everything’s okay. Because, Mike, it never _stops_. It doesn’t matter how many weeks, _months_ , we go with nothing happening, it doesn’t matter how much therapy I do, I’m always scared. And for the past six months, I thought I was just being paranoid, but I wasn’t. I’m _not._ ” 

Tears start to well up in his eyes and finally, Will lowers his voice. “The Mind Flayer is back, and you’re making it _worse_ by going on about some stupid argument we had because _you_ decided to be an asshole.” 

He doesn’t usually swear, and he sees Mike wince when he does. 

He never _actually thought_ they’d be kids forever. He’s not stupid.

But maybe he’d hoped they could sit in Mike’s basement and play Dungeons and Dragons for just a little while longer. And maybe, just maybe, he’d hoped that would make up for all the time he’s lost.

(It was Lonnie, first. Then the bullies at school.

The extradimensional stuff came later.)

Will exhales, swipes the back of his hand across his eyes. Feels simultaneously better and worse having let it all out.

“But yeah,” he says wearily, “you’re sorry. Congratulations.”

The look on Mike’s face is one he’s never seen before. Probably because Will has never snapped at him before, at least not like this. 

Will looks away.

He’s shaking, he thinks. It’s sort of hard to tell, what with how oddly numb his limbs feel, but when he twists his fingers into the fabric of his shorts, they tremble harshly against his thighs.

“Will, I -” Mike starts, voice hoarse. He clears his throat, but doesn’t start again.

Will squeezes his eyes shut again, hoping that maybe it’ll make all of this feel less real. It doesn’t. It doesn’t make him stop shaking either. Nor does it fix the ringing in his ears. 

Eventually, Mike leans forward so his elbows rest on his knees, eyes settling on his feet, and says, voice so low it’s almost a whisper, “I didn’t realize. I - you seemed okay, I thought - I should’ve known that this was...triggering you, but you didn’t show it, so I just - I assumed -”

He can’t listen to this. “Mike - Mike, stop.”

“But -”

“Look, Mike...that part’s not your fault,” Will tells him, because it’s not and as upset as he is, he doesn’t need Mike to blame himself for things that aren’t his fault. “It’s not your job to keep tabs on me. You’re supposed to be my _friend,_ not my babysitter, alright? Not that you’ve been doing a very good job of either.” 

The last bit is supposed to be under his breath, but it comes out much louder and much sharper than he’d intended. 

Mike’s eyes well up with tears to match Will’s, and Will almost starts to take it back just so the _awful_ look on his face will go away, but Mike beats him to it.

“I said I’m sorry, Will, what else do you want from me? Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg, because I’ll do it -”

_It’s not my fault you don’t like girls._

“What I _want,”_ Will hisses before he can stop himself, “is for you not to have said what you said in the _first place_.”

Wait. Wait, no, _shit._

(The anger still _burns_ , and he wants nothing more than for his blood to stop boiling. Then, perhaps, his ears will stop ringing.) 

He didn’t want to be the one to bring it up. He _said_ he wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up _._

But now that he has, he can’t pretend that this isn’t the real problem.

Because it is. Not entirely, of course, but...there’s a level of trust he’s always had in Mike, a trust that was always different than the trust he had in the other party members. Different, even, than the trust he has in his mom and his brother. 

That trust went unbroken for nine years, give or take, until it didn’t. Until three days ago.

_It’s not my fault you don’t like girls._

Ignoring him is one thing - especially since, admittedly, he _did_ push the D&D thing a little harder than necessary. He’d gotten used to being Mike’s top priority over the years as his best friend, and now - now he’s not. He can understand that. He can get _past_ that.

But the broken trust...he has no idea what he’s supposed to do with that.

Mike has always been the one he confides in, but this time he didn’t even have the chance to decide exactly _what_ he would be confiding before Mike threw it back in his face.

(It’s not that he didn’t know. He thinks, sometimes, that he’s known for a while and just not been ready or willing to admit it. 

He thinks, sometimes, that Mike has known for a while too.)

It doesn’t bother him, in theory. But Will has been through worst case scenario after worst case scenario in his head, and while this never actually made the list before, it’s definitely up there now. He can’t even blame Mike if he hates him, because sometimes - most of the time - Will hates himself too, but that doesn’t mean it won’t hurt. 

Mike’s hand finds the inside of Will’s right elbow, fingers warm against his frigid skin. Will tenses, but doesn’t pull away. 

Scared, but still hopeful.

“Will. Will, please look at me.” Two fingers of Mike’s other hand touch Will’s chin, gently turning his head so that Will has to look him in the eyes. When he moves his hand, it’s only to tuck it into Will’s and squeeze. “I _swear_ to you, I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t mean to make it seem like I wasn’t... _okay_ with this. With _you_.”

Even now, Mike’s touch makes his skin tingle.

(He still doesn’t know what that part means. He still doesn’t think he wants to.)

“I hate that this is the first - the first impression that I gave you about this. Will, I don’t want you to think I have a problem with you - you being…”

A single tear slips down Will’s cheek. He swallows hard.

Whispers, “You can say it.” 

_Please say it. I need you to say it, so I don’t have to be the first._

Mike’s eyes soften and - quietly, unwaveringly, adoringly - he says, “I never want you to feel like I have a problem with you being gay. Because I don’t, okay? Nothing’s _changed,_ Will. You’re the same person now that you were a week ago. Or a year ago. Or back in kindergarten. My best friend.”

Mike doesn’t hate him. Mike doesn’t even believe he has any _reason_ to hate him.

Okay. 

Okay.

“You’re sure this doesn’t bother you?” Will asks, voice low. “I mean, we - we’ve…”

Been friends since kindergarten. Told each other everything. Cried on each other’s shoulders. Kept each other together while the world was falling apart. Sat on each other’s laps when there wasn’t enough space on the couch. Held hands. Slept in the same bed. 

Mike’s still waiting for him to finish his sentence. Instead, Will just stares at their joined hands and says, “You’re still holding my hand.”

Mike laughs, wetly. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

Will makes a noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob - he didn’t want to cry, not in this stupid hospital in front of Lucas and El and Max, but he might be losing that battle. 

He wipes his face with his shirt sleeve and, voice breaking, says, “I didn’t think you’d still want to hold my hand once you knew.”

There’s a lot of things he thought Mike wouldn’t want to do once he knew.

But Mike’s still holding his hand. 

“Will.” Mike squeezes his fingers, a soft smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Will’s free hand presses into his thigh. “Nothing’s changed. And I’ll tell you as many times as you need me to, alright? Our friendship isn’t suddenly gonna be different just because I know that you’re gay.”

He lowers his voice when he says _gay,_ just like he did the first time, but not as if it’s something to be ashamed of. It’s just not his to say loud enough for anyone else to hear. 

“And I will never, _ever,_ say anything like what I said the other day again. I didn’t mean to throw it in your face, and I - I didn’t mean to make you talk about this before you were ready.”

The ringing in Will’s ears has quieted. It’s still here, but it’s...softer now. Duller.

He’s not angry anymore, he thinks.

Trust might still take some time to rebuild, but he’s not angry anymore. 

“It’s alright,” Will says, then shakes his head. “Well, no, it’s - it’s not _alright,_ but...I know you didn’t mean it like that. I know you won’t do it again. So... _we’re_ alright.”

Mike grins, squeezes Will’s hand again. It feels real. “Good. And hey, you know I love you, right?”

He doesn’t tack _platonically, of course_ at the end, as if Will doesn’t know that, not like Will half-expects him to. And he looks...comfortable, in it, not like this is some sort of test and he’s waiting for Will to fail.

(There’s a tiny, irrational part of Will that still screams at the words _I love you_. He thinks it’s just because he’s scared this is the only version of _I love you_ he’ll ever get to hear.

At least, that’s what he tells himself. That’s what he’ll keep telling himself until it finally starts to sound true.)

“I love you too,” Will says, and then, because he’s also just a little bit scared of the way his voice hitches and he’s more than a little bit scared of dwelling on it, he adds, “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

Will shakes his head, laughing just a little. “I know. I know you didn’t really do anything, Mike, but you...you said it was okay and you made it believable.”

That’s all he needed, at least for now. Just someone to tell him it’s okay.

“It _is_ ,” Mike says firmly. “It’s okay, Will. _You’re_ okay.”

And maybe he doesn’t quite feel it, but…

What he _does_ feel is a fluttering in his stomach and goosebumps along the back of his neck.

Will stands, spine ramrod straight, hand falling out of Mike’s grip. And their little bubble of solitude bursts.

“He’s here.”

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on [tumblr](https://peter-parkerson.tumblr.com/)


End file.
